As I’m having continued issues with my legs that are preventing me from actually getting some roadwork in. I’ve tried to find other, less stressful methods of exercising until I’m ready to get some miles under me. I’ve purchased one of those big inflatable balls that we used in yoga class. I find using this makes it easier to get good stretches in, adds new twists to doing push-ups and sit-ups, but makes me feel like I’m in the Belinda Carlisle video of “Heaven is a Place on Earth”.
Taking my dog Bailey for a walk gets me out too. She is about 14 years old and still looks great for an old girl and her pace is fine as I gimp around.
That said, to get a really good work out in while my legs heal up, I need to do the one thing I can push myself hard doing without doing more damage than good. I need to swim.
So I head over to the YMCA.
I usually swim early in the morning when only a few die-hards are there. It nice, quiet, and I can get a lane to myself. This is a necessity not a choice. Not that I’m a prude but I’ve determined that I am a bit of a “bull in a china shop”. I’m a large man. I’m not graceful. Okay, I have had my moments, but these are few and far between. Even if I were the size I’d like to get back to, I’d be considered a “big ape”. Just this past Friday, for example, I met my wife and some of her co-workers for an after work “re-fresher”. As I slid into the booth, I mis-judged the space and hit the back wall of the booth a bit harder than intended. The wall shook. The glass above us bowed. I thought I knocked the whole thing down and we would all be covered in glass and splintered wood. Any security cameras capturing this would soon have a viral video out on You Tube and I would eventually be flown out to Los Angeles for a “Web Redemption” spot on Tosh.0. Actually, that would be kinda cool.
But I digress…I CAN’T share a lane. I’d kill someone with an inadvertent elbow. Really…or as my youngest, Sam, would say…"For real!”
I figured the “Y” would be busier on a Saturday morning at 10:00 than what I’m used to. What I had not expected was the lobby, which doubles as a viewing area for the pool, would be packed with people. There were kids. There were parents. There were grand-parents. None of which has any spatial respect for any other human beings. I begin to step around, crawl over, and dance between the obstacle course of humanity to get to the front desk. Remember, I’m a bull...in a china shop…with a gimpy leg.
I have to stop for a second…Why do 7 people have to come watch one kid sit on the edge of a pool refusing to get in the water to “blow bubbles” and kick their feet? None of them WANT to be there. Come on people! Instead of going for a swim, I felt like I was waiting for my allotment of Soylent Green. (It's "goodness from the sea" don't ya know!)
My patience for humanity at times like this lead me to reconsider my scoffing off that “career guidance” exam I took years ago that recommended I become a “Light-House Keeper” or “Shepard”.
“How long until there is open swim”? I asked, hoping that the classes would be wrapping up in a couple minutes at the top of the hour.
The young lady behind the counter pointed out that lane 3 was roped off for lap swim and with a quick glance pointed out “It’s all yours”.
“Really”? I asked unbelievingly.
“For real!” she assured…sounding very much like Sammy.
I quickly headed to the locker room to change and shower. I walked out on the deck and headed over to my lane. Everywhere around me are three, four and five year olds in little groups about the pool splashing and kicking. Amid all the chaos that is a pool full of tadpoles and guppies and minnows, there is an avenue of peace and clarity that was “lane 3”. I’m pretty sure there were dark clouds parting and a ray of light that pointed right at my lane. I slip in the water with all the grace of a tripped water buffalo. The instructors from the classes on each side shoot me quick, dismissive looks. “Uh…sorry” I shrugged, not really sure they heard or cared. I was immediately pleased I had not invested more sincerity in my apology.
Upon fixing my goggles, I pushed off and began swimming. Usually it takes a few laps to get going but by the time I made my first turn, I had found the always sought for “groove”. This is something found in every sport I participated in. In running, the “groove” is hitting your stride at a pace you feel like you can run forever at…strong and quick…able to dart and react to anything. In rugby, it was the feeling that any ball, anywhere on the field was yours. Others got to hold onto it until you got there. Your team mates sensed they needed to give it to you…your competition would tremble as you ripped it from their hands. In football, it would be lining up and knowing you could tell the defensive tackle across from you the play, the count, and what direction you were going to block him and he could not stop you.
“Grooves” are glorious feelings.
So I found my “swim-groove”. My body felt like a dolphin cutting through the water. My strokes were long and strong. My heart beat and breathing were in perfect synchronization. It felt as if my spine were stretching with each stoke and I were reaching a foot farther than I should be able to. I was hitting each turn in stride and exploding off the wall. I tore off the laps and before I knew it I had reached a half mile. A one mile swim is usually a pretty good work out for me. Today, I was killing it.
Having the lane to myself in the middle of the pool was beautiful. With all the kids in the pool I felt like a Tour de France rider riding through the spectator lined streets of Paris.
A mile is 72 lengths. 40, 50, 60, were flying by. At 10:30 the classes let out and the last 12 lengths of my work out had the kids shuffling out. By the time I got done, the pool deck was empty except for the lifeguard and the instructors picking up the array of kickboards, noodles, and diving toys.
One of the best things about swimming is the “pump” you get. Upon getting done, I got out of the pool and my chest, shoulders, and arms were huge. I looked like Mr. incredible.
I strolled over to my towel and headed into the locker room for a well-deserved hot shower.
Getting my groove back feels good.
Now to find it while running….
On a side note: There are certain “sounds” associated with sports that I love. I grew up a few blocks from the high school I later attended. As a little boy, I could see the “Friday Night Lights” glowing over the trees and hear the marching band drum cadence through the night. It was magical. Other sounds I love are light towers turning on with a “click-chunk” from an electrical box, the collective groan of 16 men as a rugby scrum comes together, and the sound of a person shooting baskets in an otherwise empty gym.
Yesterday I was reminded of another “sound” that is unique and beloved. All swimmers will recognize it…the sound of a Suitemate water extractor. This is the wall mounted machine that performs a quick “spin-cycle” pulling much of the water out of your swim suit. It sounds a bit like a UPS truck slowing down in front of your house with a vibrating “rumble, rumble, rumble…”
The one sound I am longing for is that of running shoes slapping out strides through a quiet neighborhood.
Oh well…Rome wasn't built in a day.
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